Twenty-Six
The storm didn’t stop.
By the time Charlie Team reached the old forestry station two kilometers north of the monastery ruins, snow hammered down in a relentless, blinding assault, devouring the world one white layer at a time.
Mountains vanished behind swirling walls of gray, the wind slashing curtains of snow through the trees until even the closest ridge faded into a pale, shivering ghost.
Justin relished storms like this. They wrapped the world in secrecy, cloaking every movement, every mistake, beneath a wild, shifting veil.
The forestry station had once been a ranger outpost before the region’s timber operations collapsed decades earlier. Now it was little more than a squat concrete structure crouched beneath a broken roofline, its windows boarded and its doors hanging slightly crooked on rusted hinges.
Temporary shelter. Temporary command post. Tomorrow, this might be a battlefield—or a grave.
Justin entered first.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood, old paper, and the metallic tang of cold air that slithered through every cracked seam. Shadows crawled along the walls, the room feeling less like shelter and more like a bunker waiting for siege.
Ice kicked the door shut behind them, a bang echoing through the gloom. “Well,” he said, shaking snow from his jacket, “I’ve stayed in worse hotels. But not many.”
Frosty moved immediately to the windows, pulling aside the warped boards just enough to check the perimeter.
Clear—for now. But even the silence felt loaded, as if the storm itself was holding its breath, waiting to see who would break first.
Justin dropped the laptop case onto the center table. “Lights?”
Gucci nodded and flicked on a small battery lantern.
Soft yellow light filled the room. Not much. Enough.
Anya crossed to the far wall, leaned her rifle against the cracked plaster, and pulled the folded map from Justin’s jacket pocket without asking.
Justin let her.
She spread it across the table.
The basin. The ridges. The rail tunnel.
Ice came up beside them and whistled quietly. “That’s a lot of mountain.”
“Yes,” Anya said.
“That’s why Sokolov chose it.”
Justin planted both hands on the table, fingers splayed over the battered wood. “Devon.”
The comm crackled. “I’m here.”
“Update.”
Devon exhaled softly through the speaker. “The retrieval convoy is moving.”
Ice’s head snapped up. “How far?”
“Thirty kilometers south of your position.”
Justin checked his watch. 01:18. Not much time. “Speed?”
“Moderate.”
“That’s deliberate,” Anya said.
Justin nodded.
Ice frowned. “Why not move faster?”
“Because they’re not worried about being late,” Justin replied.
“They’re worried about being early.”
Frosty joined them at the table. “So the monastery fight didn’t change the plan.”
“No,” Justin said. “It confirmed it.” He tapped the rail tunnel on the map. “They’re bringing the convoy through here.”
Ice leaned closer. “That’s the choke point.”
“Yes.”
“And the perfect ambush.”
Justin looked at him. “Exactly.”
The room went quiet for a moment. Snow rattled against the boarded windows. Wind groaned across the roof.
Outside, the storm pressed in heavier, less a snowfall and more a force of nature—an invisible hand crushing the world flat, swallowing every sound and twisting distance until the night itself seemed to close its jaws around the station.
Perfect for both hunters and soldiers.
Justin straightened. “Charlie Team.”
Ice and Frosty looked up.
“We intercept before the convoy reaches the tunnel.”
Ice nodded slowly. “Two angles?”
“Three.”
Justin pointed to the ridgeline above the tunnel entrance.
“Anya takes overwatch here.”
She didn’t argue. Of course she didn’t.
Ice tapped the valley floor. “That leaves us here.”
“Yes.”
Frosty traced a line along the opposite slope. “And here.”
Justin nodded. “Exactly.”
Ice grinned. “I like this plan already.”
Anya’s finger moved to the convoy route again. “They’ll have hunters.”
“Yes.”
“Orlov.”
“Probably.”
“Irina.”
“Definitely.”
Frosty frowned. “That leaves the third.”
Justin met Anya’s eyes. “Unknown.”
Ice rubbed his hands together. “I’m hoping the unknown is less enthusiastic than the first two.”
No one answered. Because none of them believed that.
Devon broke the silence. “There’s something else.”
Justin looked toward the speaker. “What?”
“I’ve been tracking the relay signals from the monastery.”
Ice frowned. “I thought we destroyed it.”
“You did,” Devon said. “But it transmitted one last data packet before the battery died.”
Justin’s attention sharpened. “And?”
Devon hesitated. “It wasn’t addressed to Sokolov.”
Ice sighed. “That’s never good.”
Justin folded his arms. “Who was it for?”
Devon read the message. “Target confirmed. Retrieval window active. Morozov present.”
The room went still.
Anya didn’t move.
Ice looked slowly from Devon’s speaker to Justin. “Well.”
Justin exhaled once. “So the monastery wasn’t just recon.”
“No,” Anya said quietly. “It was confirmation.”
Ice scratched the back of his neck. “Confirmation that you showed up.”
“Yes.”
Justin met her gaze. “They were testing your response.”
“And yours.”
He didn’t argue.
Frosty looked between them. “So this whole retrieval window…”
“…was built around Anya,” Ice finished.
Justin nodded once. “Yes.”
Anya’s expression didn’t change. “Then we change the board.”
Justin waited. “How?”
She pointed at the tunnel entrance again.
“If they’re expecting to retrieve me there…”
Ice’s grin widened. “…then we meet them there first.”
Justin studied the map. The tunnel. Narrow. Dark. Two entrances. Minimal maneuvering space. Dangerous. Perfect. “Yes.”
Frosty folded her arms. “We collapse the convoy.”
Justin nodded. “Before they deploy the retrieval team.”
Ice leaned back against the wall. “I’m really starting to like Montenegro.”
Devon’s voice returned. “One more thing.”
Justin closed his eyes briefly. “What?”
“I have another signal match.”
Ice groaned. “You keep doing this to us.”
Devon ignored him. “It came from near the rail corridor.”
Justin felt the room tighten. “What kind of signal?”
Devon hesitated. “Old encryption.”
“How old?”
“Silent Night era.”
Justin looked at Anya. She already knew. “Pierce.”
Devon answered softly. “Yes.”
Ice blinked. “You’re telling me he’s here?”
“Possibly.”
Justin rubbed his jaw slowly. “That means he’s already moving.”
Anya’s voice came quiet. “He always did.”
Frosty looked confused. “You trust him?”
Justin answered before she could. “No.”
Ice nodded. “But we trust him to hate Sokolov.”
“That,” Justin said, “is enough.”
Outside, the storm erupted. Wind hurled snow against the forestry station with such fury it felt as if the mountains were lunging to swallow them whole.
Justin looked around the room. Charlie Team. Anya. The map. The tunnel. The window. Everything in place. Everything moving toward the same moment.
He checked his watch again. 01:46. Less than ninety minutes.
Justin reached for the rifle leaning beside the table. “Gear up.”
Ice straightened. “Music to my ears.”
Gucci shut off the lantern. The room dropped into darkness.
The storm swallowed the forestry station almost instantly as Charlie Team moved back into the night.
Anya walked beside Justin as they descended the ridge trail toward the rail corridor.
For a while neither spoke.
The storm devoured every trace of sound except for the crunch of their boots and the wind’s low, predatory growl threading through the trees.
Anya walked close enough that their shoulders brushed once—then again when the trail narrowed. Neither of them adjusted.
Justin noticed.
Of course he did.
Her breathing was steady. Controlled. But not untouched. Not after the monastery. Not after what they’d just confirmed.
His hand came up once—briefly—closing around her elbow as the path dipped sharply beneath a layer of ice hidden under fresh snow.
She didn’t slip.
But she didn’t pull away either.
The contact held a fraction longer than necessary. Not protective. Not casual. Intentional.
Her gaze flicked to his hand. Then up to his face.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said quietly.
“I know.” He let go.
But the space between them didn’t widen again.
Then she said quietly, “You know what Sokolov is doing.”
Justin didn’t look at her. “Yes.”
“He wants me in that tunnel.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still walking into it.”
Justin glanced sideways. Her face was pale in the snow light, eyes sharp and unreadable beneath strands of windblown hair. “Yes,” he said.
“Why?”
He answered without hesitation. “Because he thinks he’s the only one who understands the program.”
Snow crunched beneath their boots. Wind howled through the trees.
Justin adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder. “He’s wrong.”
Ahead of them, the mountain dropped away toward the rail line.
Somewhere beyond the trees engines were already moving.
And the retrieval window had begun.